


i'm only honest when it rains

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Post-S7, basically a load of things they should have done in canon, canon vld? don't know her, essentially a fix-it fic now, hc that lance switches into spanish sometimes, he's so gone for lance, keith addresses why he left the team for the blade, keith apologizes for the game show, lance addresses the rivalry, lance does keith's hair, lots of keith's inner monologue, not sure how else to tag this but here you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 00:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: “I, Lance McClain, hereby declare our rivalry—”“Your rivalry,” Keith protests.Lance shushes him. “Our rivalry, which I created of my own accord—” Keith nods, satisfied. “—to be null and void for the foreseeable future.”Keith props his chin in his hand. “Are you done?”Lance lowers his hand. “I’m done.”





	i'm only honest when it rains

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm just still feeling the repercussions of s8 and i'm posting this partly out of spite and because it's been sitting in my drafts forever (i started it a couple months ago) and i just wanted to put it out. this is really just a first draft and it's not even close to being finished (i have big plans for this one, it's going to be part one of a two-part series). when i finish the klancemas series i'm going to focus all my attention on the love you left behind and get that finished, and then when i'm done with that i'm coming back to this and i'll repost the full fic when i've completed it. so anyway for now here you go

The first thing Keith does when he opens his eyes, is immediately snap them back shut with a groan, because _wow._ Everything hurts.  
  
His head is throbbing like someone took his heart out of his chest and jammed it into his skull alongside his brain—which, evidently, is already struggling to work properly, because for a scary moment he can’t quite remember anything. Why is his entire body aching? Where is he? Why can he barely move? All he knows is that his mouth is dry and there’s a crick in his neck and his ears are ringing and he can hardly move underneath whatever’s on top of him and all of that, coupled with the fact that it hurts even to open his eyes along with his momentary loss of memory, would probably make any sane person panic.  
  
So Keith is kind of panicking. He feels his heartbeat quickening as he struggles to sit up, grimacing from the pain when he tries to lift his head. Is he in danger? Has he been captured? Is he alone— He starts when he feels a gentle hand on his arm, followed by a wave of relief flooding through his body when he hears a familiar voice speak his name.  
  
“Keith, it’s alright. You’re safe.”  
  
Keith lets himself relax slightly and takes a breath to steady himself before opening his eyes again, slowly this time. He squints against the harsh white lights above him, shifting uncomfortably beneath the heavy blankets laid carefully over him. His vision is still a bit blurry, until he blinks a few times, and Krolia’s face finally comes into focus. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed he’s occupying, smiling softly down at him.  
  
“Mom?” he croaks. His throat feels raw and scratchy, and he has to resist the urge to cough, which would probably hurt more than help.  
  
“How do you feel?” she murmurs.  
  
He tries to swallow, but his mouth still feels and tastes like sandpaper. The sudden influx of light is really disorienting, and everything feels slightly off, his mind foggy and cluttered. He still doesn’t even know where he is—is that a heart monitor? Is he in the hospital? Wait, this looks like a room in the Garrison sickbay. “Where—what happened?”  
  
Krolia lightly squeezes his arm, her eyes searching his. “What do you remember?”  
  
The slightest effort on Keith’s part to remember anything at all hits him with a sudden wave of dizziness. He screws his eyes shut and twists his hands in the sheets as if to keep his balance. “I don’t—my head hurts,” he admits in response to her earlier question, feeling a little childish.  
  
“You have a concussion,” Krolia explains patiently, her hand never leaving his arm, a steady presence to help ground him. “It’s not too severe, but you’ll probably be having headaches for the next week or two.”  
  
As if in response, another jolt of pain shoots through the back of his skull, and he winces. “How did I—”  
  
And then everything comes back at once. His eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright with a gasp, immediately regretting it when every muscle in his body aches in protest, leaving him light-headed.  
  
“The others,” he pants, gripping the rail along his bedside so he doesn’t keel back over from the pain. “Are they—is everyone else—”  
  
Krolia is immediately there at his side to push him back down. “Everyone is fine,” she says soothingly. “They’re fine. Relax.”  
  
Keith reluctantly lets her press him back down into the pillows, too weak to struggle against her. His heart is pounding and his mind is racing, which only serves to contribute to the persistent ache in his head and his chest. Krolia already told him everyone’s okay, but he still feels on edge—he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something, something important—then one name enters his mind, it’s loud and it’s heavy and demanding of his immediate attention, and suddenly he’s panicking all over again and he can’t find it anywhere in himself to be embarrassed for asking: “Lance?”  
  
Krolia studies him for a moment, her gaze completely unreadable, and Keith’s heart leaps into his throat as he waits for her answer. _Please. Please let him be okay. He has to be okay—_  
  
“He’s alright,” Krolia says softly, finally, and Keith didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he lets it out in a shaky sigh of relief.  
  
He closes his eyes and sinks back the rest of the way into the pillows. He’s okay. Lance is okay. Lance. The thought alone of how many times he thought he’d lost him in only the past few days makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. Too many times. Too many times they nearly lost him. He tries not to think about how transparent he’d been, how vulnerable he felt every time he called out his name, every time there was even the slightest chance that Lance was in danger. But he doesn’t care, anyway. As long as Lance is okay. And he’s okay.  
  
_Okay, but are you okay?_ His brain adds, following another sharp pang in his head. “How long have I been out?” he asks weakly.  
  
Krolia’s hand finally slips away from his arm and she rests it on the rail. “Only about a day. Kolivan and I came as soon as we heard. We were lucky to be nearby.”  
  
Keith opens his eyes and blinks in surprise. “Kolivan’s here?”  
  
She smiles a little. “Outside, speaking with Shiro. He’s grown quite fond of you, you know.”  
  
“Kolivan or Shiro?” Keith asks, squirming a little under the sheets.  
  
“Considering I had to force them out of the room so they’d rest,” Krolia lets out a huff of laughter. “Both of them, clearly.”  
  
“Yeah, well. Shiro’s stubborn.”  
  
“Yes, I can see where you got it from.”  
  
Keith scoffs, but his mouth twitches up in to a surprised smile at Krolia’s teasing. “Wow, thanks.”  
  
She sits back in her chair and just looks at him for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she says, a little suddenly: “Lance was asking for you.”  
  
Keith chokes on air. Krolia only watches in amusement as he forces himself back up into a sitting position to lessen his fit of coughing. “Lance—” He coughs again, struggling to take in a proper breath. “He—what?”  
  
A small, knowing smile appears on Krolia’s face that makes Keith’s cheeks burn. “Lance was asking for you,” she repeats. Keith stares at her as she folds her arms and taps her fingers, tipping her head slightly. “Although he wasn’t fully conscious yet, when he did.”  
  
She waits patiently as Keith processes the implications of her statement. Lance asked for him. Not fully conscious. Wait, what does that— _wait._ Her smile grows when he finally seems to catch on. His eyes widen, his mouth drops open slightly and he tries but fails to stop the blush creeping up his neck. “Oh,” he manages.  
  
Krolia hums as she stands, leaning over and pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple. “You should get some proper rest. We’ll still be here when you wake up.” Keith just stares as she makes her way to the door, still reeling from the realization. The door slides open and Krolia pauses in the threshold, looking back. “Keith, I know I haven’t really said this before, but—I’m very proud of you.”  
  
Keith struggles to form a complete sentence, flustered. “I, uh—” She smiles again and he blinks, trying to remember if he’s ever seen her smile so much in such a short amount of time. “Thank you. I—yeah. Thanks, Mom.”  
  
Then she disappears into the hallway, the door slides closed, and Keith stares at the place where she had just been standing. He lies back and clutches at the fabric on his chest, embarrassed by how fast his heart is racing even though he’s alone now. The throbbing in his head has diminished to more of a dull ache, but his mind is anything but quiet.  
  
Lance was asking for him? When he wasn’t fully conscious—what does that even mean? Asking for him how? For what? Just to see him, or to talk to him—or is it something else entirely? He breathes out and brushes his bangs back, holding them there as he fixes his eyes on the ceiling.  
  
What does that mean for him? Should he go see him? He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to. But is he even awake yet? What if he gets there and it turns out Lance doesn’t really want to see him at all—he _was_ only half-conscious, according to Krolia. It’s not like he called out his name because he was worried about him or something like that. That would be reading too much into it. Right?  
  
_Right?_ Keith thinks to himself.  
  
“Right?” he mutters, just for good measure.  
  
_Right,_ his brain agrees. _…Right?_  
  
Keith covers his face with his hands and groans. It wouldn’t be weird to go visit Lance, would it? No. No, that wouldn’t be weird. That’s what friends do. And they’re friends. He thinks.  
  
_Unless you screwed it up._ He blinks through his fingers.  
  
_I just don’t wanna be stuck here for eternity with Lance._  
  
He closes his eyes. “Oh my god,” he whispers.  
  
  
  
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  
  
  
  
He’s trying to remember when was the last time he and Lance actually really talked when he finally musters up the courage to go see him. It took him another painful (both physically and mentally) day and a half to do so, but better late than never. He blames the delay on his incessant, never-ending headache, but if he’s really honest with himself, he’s actually just a little bit terrified.  
  
A few officers pause in their conversation and nod respectfully as Keith slowly makes his way down the hallway. He can’t get over the nagging fear that Lance won’t want to talk to him. They may have been able to get along during their recent missions, but was that only for the sake of the team? Maybe Lance only listened to him out of obligation or necessity. Maybe he only sees Keith as the team leader, and nothing more.  
  
He doesn’t think they’ve had a proper conversation since he came back from his mission with Krolia. He’d been gone for two years, but how long had that been for the rest of the team—for Lance? When was the last time they even talked before he left for the Blade in the first place? The last he remembers was the day Lance came into his room with that very distinctly un-Lance look on his face that Keith wishes he could erase from his memory completely; it still hurts so much to think about.  
  
_Leave the math to Pidge._  
  
“I’m an idiot,” Keith mutters.  
  
_I don’t have time for this, Lance._  
  
“I’m an _idiot,”_ Keith mutters.  
  
Lance is probably leaving as soon as he’s fully recovered to spend time with his family in Cuba. Will he even come back after that? Will they ever see each other again? The thought of never seeing him again makes something in Keith’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Especially if they left things the way they are right now.  
  
But what if he only makes things worse by trying to talk to him? Maybe it would be easier for the both of them just to let him leave without saying goodbye.  
  
But then he’s standing outside Lance’s door, and he realizes that it’s now or never. He stares at his reflection in the shine of the metal door, his heart pounding and hands shaking slightly from the anticipation. If he doesn’t do this now, he might not get the chance later. But what if this is a bad idea? Is he overthinking this? Probably. But what if he’s not?  
  
_You’re being stupid,_ Keith thinks. _Just go in. What’s the worst that could happen?_  
  
He raises a fist to knock, then hesitates.  
  
_He could yell at you,_ one half of his brain suggests unhelpfully. _He could tell you he hates you, that he never wants to see you again, that he wants you to leave and never come back._  
  
_Or,_ the other half counters. _He could not._  
  
Keith falters, glancing both ways down the hallway to see if anyone’s watching because he probably looks ridiculous right now.  
  
_You’re pathetic,_ says his brain.  
  
“Thanks,” Keith mutters to himself.  
  
_You both nearly died. Now is not the time to be a coward. So get over yourself, march in there, sit down and tell him exactly how you feel—_  
  
_How about you start by apologizing?_ The more logical part of his brain interrupts. _Apologizing is good._  
  
“Okay,” Keith whispers. “Okay, I can do that.”  
  
Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and knocks before he can lose his nerve.  
  
His heart stutters when he hears Lance’s voice. “Come in!”  
  
The door slides open and Keith steps inside, stopping abruptly when both Lance and Shiro look up at him and all of his resolve flies out the window. “Oh.”  
  
Lance’s eyes widen the slightest fraction when he sees Keith standing there in the doorway, while Shiro turns in his seat at Lance’s bedside and smiles. “Hey! Good to see you up and moving. How are you feeling?”  
  
Keith’s mouth opens. Closes. He feels his face flush as if he’s just been caught, which is dumb because this is sickbay and people are allowed to go visit each other and this shouldn’t make him feel as uncomfortable as it is because it’s not weird at all for him to be standing in Lance’s doorway and this is totally normal.  
  
“I—uh, I’m fine. Great.” He tries to ignore the way his skin is prickling where he can feel Lance staring at him, and the way Shiro raises an eyebrow slightly as he steps back, his hand on the doorframe. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His eyes flick toward Lance, and okay that was a bad idea because he’s looking right back at him and his eyes are just as blue as he remembers and his hair is kind of messy and he has those really cute freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose and Keith is so, so far gone and it takes everything in him to rip his gaze away from Lance and back to Shiro. “I can come back later if—”  
  
“Oh, that’s alright,” Shiro cuts him off, standing from his chair and startling Lance a little, like he’d forgotten Shiro was in the room. “I was just about to leave. I need to check in with Dr. Holt and see where we’re at with repairs on the Atlas, anyway. I’ll give you guys the room.”  
  
Keith doesn’t even have time to argue before Shiro is crossing the room, patting his shoulder as he passes by with a smile on his face that makes Keith want to simultaneously punch him and crawl back into his own bed and hide. He calls a quick goodbye to Lance, exits into the hallway, and leaves Keith standing awkwardly in the doorway.  
  
He drags his gaze back toward Lance as a thick silence settles over them. Maybe it’s just him, but to Keith the silence is heavy—he can literally feel the unspoken tension in the air. Lance is still staring at him with an expression on his face that’s almost as unreadable as the one he sees so often on Krolia, and he has no idea if that’s a good or a bad sign.  
  
_This is the part where you say something,_ his brain suggests again. But instead, Keith finds himself holding his breath, just waiting for Lance to say something, anything. _Please say something. Please tell me you don’t hate me, please tell me I haven’t completely and utterly screwed this up._  
  
He feels like he’s been standing there for years when Lance finally cracks a smile, and Keith would be lying if he said his heart didn’t actually skip a beat at the sight.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Keith breathes out a sigh of relief, unable to resist the smile that crosses his own face. _Okay. He hasn’t yelled at you to get out yet. That’s a good sign._ “Hey.”  
  
“Wanna sit down?” Lance offers, gesturing at the chair that Shiro had been occupying just a minute ago. Keith’s skin burns under Lance’s watchful gaze as he crosses the room and settles into the seat.  
  
“Is everything okay? If I’d known Shiro were here I would have waited.”  
  
“Oh, everything’s fine,” Lance says. “We were just kind of overdue for a talk.”  
  
_Ironic,_ Keith thinks, then clears his throat. “What about you? I mean—how are you?”  
  
“I’m okay,” Lance shrugs. “I just kind of hurt everywhere, but other than that I have emerged from the ashes unscathed. I was totally wiped out for a while, though.”  
  
_During which he literally called your name while in a catatonic state,_ Keith’s brain reminds him. _Several times. It’s fine. No big deal._  
  
Lance smiles again, although this time with a little sympathy. “But it looks like you got the worst of it. Concussion?”  
  
Keith starts a little. “What?” Lance taps his head with one finger, and Keith’s hand instinctively goes up to the bandage wrapped around his own. “Oh, yeah. I’ve had a headache ever since I woke up, but other than that it’s not supposed to be that bad.”  
  
“That’s good,” Lance says sincerely. “I got a really bad one when I was younger while I was playing soccer with Luis and Marco. It was definitely their fault. My mom still gets onto them for it to this very day.”  
  
Keith squints. “You gave yourself a concussion, didn’t you?”  
  
“I gave myself a concussion,” Lance confirms, without shame. “But it wasn’t my fault!”  
  
Keith snorts. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”  
  
“Whatever,” Lance waves a hand in the air. “Long story short, Marco is a terrible goalie and Luis purposely let me kick the ball into the goalpost.”  
  
The mental image of a young Lance kicking a soccer ball into a goalpost and subsequently getting pegged in the face by its return appears in Keith’s mind and he chokes back a laugh, which hurts his head more than if he had just let it out. He can’t deny the relief washing over him at how well this seems to be going. Definitely much better than he expected. “Sounds about right.”  
  
“Yeah, it put me out of school for a while,” Lance sighs. “Veronica thought it was hilarious. She wouldn’t stop making fun of me because I basically got demoted to water boy for my soccer team for like, a month, and then I nearly got hit in the face _again_ just by standing on the sideline y Mamá casi me hizo—”  
  
He abruptly cuts himself off, his face flushing slightly, and Keith blinks, because _oh,_ he just did that thing again where he accidentally switches into Spanish while he’s talking and Keith hardly even notices because it’s such a Lance thing to do that he doesn’t think twice about it. It’s definitely not the first time it’s happened. Keith has heard Lance slip into Spanish so many times it just seems normal. It always happens when Lance gets excited or starts recounting a fond memory or goes off rambling, especially when he’s talking about his family, which is the topic of at least 90% of everything Lance says. It’s kind of cute.  
  
Not that Keith thinks about it. At all. Ever.  
  
He just wonders why he hasn’t heard Lance speak in Spanish more often, and why he seems to get so uneasy when he catches himself before he gets carried away.  
  
Lance clears his throat. “Uh, my mom almost made me quit the team after that.”  
  
“Is that why you always insist on kicking everything?” Keith asks, partly teasing, partly out of genuine curiosity, and partly just to keep the conversation going. “Because you played soccer?”  
  
“Or maybe I insisted on playing soccer because I like kicking things,” Lance hums thoughtfully, and Keith huffs a laugh. “Either way.”  
  
Keith picks at the padding of the chair. “Has your family come to visit a lot?”  
  
Lance’s eyes light up and he sits a bit straighter. “Yep! Veronica had them relocated to the city before everything went down, so they’re not very far from the Garrison. They were here earlier, but my niece got tired so they went home.”  
  
“Wait.” Keith stills for a moment, frowning a little. “So you don’t get to go back to Cuba?”  
  
He feels a pang of sympathy when Lance’s smile falters slightly, and he wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up at all. “Not yet. I’m not sure when I’ll get to go back, but that’s okay. I’m just happy to see my family.” He shrugs again. “It’s not really home without them, anyway.”  
  
Keith studies him for a second, then swallows and looks down at his feet. “I’m really glad you have them back. I, uh—I know how much you missed them.”  
  
When there’s no immediate response, Keith looks up to see Lance watching him with another look that freezes him in place, because he can’t quite read it and he can’t tell if he wants to be able to or not. Lance starts a little when he realizes Keith is looking back at him. “I—yeah, I did.” He pauses. “Thanks.”  
  
There’s a moment of awkward silence. Keith shuffles in his seat, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. He knows this is his chance to say what he needs to say, but there’s so much—too much—and he just doesn’t know _how_ to say it.  
  
Lance fidgets a little. “So, did you just stop by to say hi, or—”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Keith blurts, and Lance’s eyes widen a little.  
  
“Oh. Uh—”  
  
“I wanted to apologize.” Keith suddenly feels out of breath, like he just sprinted up six flights of stairs. “For the way I brushed you off when I got back.”  
  
It’s subtle, but something changes in Lance’s expression, and he looks away. “That was a long time ago.”  
  
Keith’s mouth is dry now. “Not really.”  
  
“It’s fine, Keith.” Keith might have believed him if it weren’t for the fact that his brow is creased and he still won’t make eye contact. “I get it. It was a tense situation. It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“But it is,” Keith insists, a little desperately. “It is to me. I didn’t have the right to treat you that way, plus I—I hadn’t seen you in two years.” Lance looks up at that, and it throws Keith off guard. “The truth is—” His words catch in his throat.  
  
_I really missed you. I thought about you every day; I thought about you so much that sometimes I forgot you weren’t there and when I realized you weren’t, it made me miss you all over again._  
  
Keith swallows. “The truth is, I was a jerk. So I’m sorry.” Lance opens his mouth as if to respond, but Keith quickly continues, determined not to lose his momentum. “And I’m sorry for what I said in that dumb—game show or whatever it was, because that wasn’t—it’s not even true. It was a stupid thing to say, so—I’m sorry for saying it, and I’m sorry for anything else I’ve ever said or done to make fun of you or anything like that—”  
  
“Keith, buddy,” Lance interrupts, his eyes wide. “Breathe.”  
  
Keith takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry,” he mumbles.  
  
He keeps his eyes on the floor as he waits for Lance’s response, chewing nervously on his lip. He’s given up on trying to decipher Lance’s expressions, but maybe that doesn’t even matter. Maybe this is the part where it all goes south. But apparently, Lance just loves to prove Keith wrong about every little thing.  
  
“I owe you an apology too.”  
  
Keith’s head snaps up. “What?”  
  
Lance is the one looking away now. “For what I said to you,” he clarifies, picking at a loose thread in his sheets. “When we were stuck in space.”  
  
There’s a brief delay between Keith’s brain and his body, a near-debilitating pang of hurt shooting through his chest before his mind catches up with Lance’s words.  
  
_Keith, you ran away. Maybe you should’ve just stayed away._  
  
He sinks a little lower in his chair, staring down at his hands clamped on his knees. “Oh.”  
  
“Yeah,” Lance sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He pauses. “You know I didn’t mean that, right?”  
  
Keith studies his feet, dragging the toe of his boot across a line on the tile floor. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Maybe.”  
  
“Keith,” Lance starts, and Keith finds his gaze drawn back up at the hint of desperation in his voice. “I never wanted you to leave in the first place.”  
  
There’s a moment of quiet as Keith just stares at him, his mind working overtime to process. Lance didn’t want him to leave. Why does it feel like there’s so much to unpack there? Unless he’s overthinking things again—maybe he’s reading way too much into this. But the way that Lance looks genuinely pained at Keith’s confusion suggests otherwise.  
  
“Look, let me just—” Lance takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “—lay it all out.” Keith watches silently as he drops his hands into his lap, bunching up the sheets in his fingers. “I think we got off on the wrong foot at the very start of all this. That was probably my fault, with the whole—uh, rivalry thing, and stuff.”  
  
“Lance and Keith, neck and neck,” Keith deadpans, and Lance grimaces.  
  
“Yeah. That.” He clears his throat. “I think we can both agree that I was being really immature. I was really unsure of myself just because—I’ve always kind of been on the lower end of everything, skill-wise, so—” Keith opens his mouth to argue, because literally, _what is he talking about,_ but Lance goes on before he can get a word in. “I was insecure, and I took it out on you instead of dealing with the problem myself. I’m big enough now to admit that I was really just jealous of you, and I let that get in the way of—” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Everything. Which is why I blamed myself when you left.”  
  
Keith splutters. “Wait, what? Lance—”  
  
“Just let me finish,” Lance cuts him off.  
  
“No,” Keith frowns, crossing his arms. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not letting you blame yourself for something I chose to do.”  
  
Lance levels him with a skeptical look. “Fine. Then tell me why you really left.”  
  
Keith’s eyes widen a little at that and he looks away, digging his fingers into his arms. This isn’t where he was expecting this conversation to go. “I already told you why,” he mutters.  
  
“Keith, no offense,” Lance crosses his own arms. “But do you honestly think I bought that?” Keith stares determinedly at a spot on the floor. Lance sighs, but his voice softens. “There was more to it than that, wasn’t there?”  
  
_Of course there was,_ Keith thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut. He refuses to look up at Lance, even though he can feel his eyes on him, searching intently. Lance sits back after a moment, his brow furrowed.  
  
“You left because of me, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. “I drove you away.”  
  
“No, Lance—” Keith shakes his head in frustration. “Look, can we talk about this later?”  
  
“When is later?” Keith huffs and Lance frowns at him. “C’mon, man. I just confessed to conjuring up a one-sided rivalry just because I was jealous of you. I feel like you at least owe me this much.”  
  
Keith chances a look up at Lance, who’s gazing at him expectantly, and he feels his throat close up in a sort of panic. He can’t do this. He can’t tell Lance. Telling him the real reason he left would practically be a full-blown confession. He might as well tape a sign to his forehead that reads I HAVE FEELINGS FOR YOU! in bright red capital letters.  
  
But he did almost die. Several times.  
  
You _almost died,_ his brain adds.  
  
Now or never.  
  
“Fine.” Lance leans forward slightly in anticipation, and Keith looks away, swallowing. “I left, because—” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This should not be this hard. “I left so you wouldn’t lose your place on the team,” he mumbles.  
  
The room falls silent. Keith holds his breath and waits, his eyes on the floor once again. His panic rises the longer the silence drags on. What is Lance thinking? What will he say? Will he even say anything at all? Did he just mess everything up? Why is it suddenly so freaking hot in here—  
  
He’s not sure exactly what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t a punch in the arm. Keith brings a hand up to his stinging shoulder where Lance’s fist just made contact, his head whipping up to stare at him. “What was _that_ for?”  
  
“I can’t believe you!” Lance goes to land another punch, and Keith nearly topples backward in his haste to scoot the chair out of Lance’s range.  
  
“Stop that! What are you doing?”  
  
“I didn’t tell you I was willing to step down from the team so you could make it your problem!” Lance cries. “Are you serious right now?”  
  
“Yes?” Keith rubs his shoulder, offended. “And I didn’t tell you just so you could punch me!”  
  
“Well, why would you tell me that in the first place?”  
  
“You asked!”  
  
Lance groans and covers his face in his hands. “I never would have told you that if I’d known—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Why would you do that for me?”  
  
_Maybe because I’m so desperately and pathetically far gone for you that I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant you would be happy,_ Keith thinks. “I already told you it was my choice,” he answers instead, purposely sidestepping the question.  
  
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Lance says into his fingers. He peeks through them after a moment. “Sorry I punched you.”  
  
“I guess I kind of deserved it,” Keith admits, his hand slipping from his shoulder.  
  
Lance settles back into his pillows. “I could’ve punched harder. I was just being nice.”  
  
Keith snorts. “Sure.”  
  
His heart flips at the lopsided grin that Lance shoots at him. “Here, let’s make this official.” He raises one hand in the air and places the other over his heart. “I, Lance McClain, hereby declare our rivalry—”  
  
_“Your_ rivalry,” Keith protests.  
  
Lance shushes him. “Our rivalry, which I created of my own accord—” Keith nods, satisfied. “—to be null and void for the foreseeable future.”  
  
Keith props his chin in his hand. “Are you done?”  
  
Lance lowers his hand. “I’m done.”  
  
“So if we’re not rivals anymore, then now we’re, what?” Keith raises an eyebrow, teasing, even though he actually desperately needs the confirmation. “Friends?”  
  
He's proud of the way he only panics just a little bit when Lance gives him a funny look. “We’ve always been friends, Keith.”  
  
That catches Keith completely off guard, the way Lance says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. This whole time, he’d still thought Lance would hate him, after everything Keith had said, everything he’d pulled—What does he even say to that? He’d fully expected this conversation to pull a 180 and go south. He wasn’t prepared for this.  
  
He’s saved from fumbling for a response when there’s a brisk knock on the door and they both look up to see one of the Garrison nurses. She smiles as she steps inside. “Hey, sorry to interrupt. I’m just making my rounds to check up on everyone.”  
  
“Oh.” Keith tries not to sound too obviously disappointed, glancing back at Lance as the nurse waits politely in the doorway. “Um, I guess I should go back to my room.”  
  
Lance smiles again, and Keith mentally scolds himself when his heart flips again. “See you around, then.”  
  
Keith stands, having almost forgotten he’s mildly concussed until he takes a step and nearly topples over, dizzy from the sudden change in orientation.  
  
“Whoa there,” the nurse—Rubi, says her name tag—chuckles as she catches Keith’s arm, steadying him. “Yeah, let’s get you back to your room first.”  
  
“Try not to fall for me, Kogane,” Lance calls out as Keith is carefully lead out into the hallway, laughter ringing in his voice.  
  
_Ugh,_ Keith thinks weakly, a little too light-headed now to be embarrassed even by himself. _Too late._  
  
“Oh, so you’re Keith,” Rubi murmurs as she helps him down the hallway. “I’m glad you finally got around to visiting him.”  
  
“What?” Keith frowns at the floor as he tries to regain his bearings, confused.  
  
They make it into his room and she doesn’t let go of his arm until he’s managed to climb into bed without falling over. “He seemed a little frantic when he woke up,” she explains thoughtfully, adjusting the sheets for him. “Wouldn’t let anyone touch him until he knew you were okay.”  
  
Keith is still a little dizzy. That statement didn’t particularly help. “He—really?”  
  
“You seem surprised.” She smiles at him in a way that makes Keith’s cheeks heat up. He wishes they would stop doing that. “Anyway, try to get some more rest, yeah? And drink as much water as you can. That’ll help keep the dizzy spells to a minimum.”  
  
“Okay,” Keith agrees, a bit dazed. “Thank you.”  
  
She smiles again and then steps back into the hallway, leaving Keith alone to stare up at the ceiling and contemplate what in the world all of this is supposed to freaking mean. And he decides after a while, very cautiously, that maybe he’s not reading too much into this at all. Maybe he’s not reading into it enough.  
  
Is it foolish to hope? Maybe. Reckless? Definitely. But then again, that’s always been Keith’s style.  
  
And clearly, Lance is no exception.  
  
  
  
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  
  
  
  
It’s been about a week.  
  
Krolia and Kolivan stay for as long as they can, but eventually they announce that they have to return to the Blade’s new base and continue rebuilding.  
  
She wraps Keith in a tight hug in the flight hangar before they leave. “I love you,” she murmurs, and he’s still kind of floored by how easily she says it, like she never stopped loving him even after they had been apart for so long. He supposes that’s because she really never did.  
  
He clings to the fabric of her suit and sheds a few more tears than he’d like to admit, because he wishes she didn’t have to keep leaving, even if this time is different. “Love you too,” he mumbles into her shoulder.  
  
Everyone seems to be recovering well, so it comes as no surprise when Allura gathers the entire team in the lounge to announce that the Garrison wants to hold a special ceremony in their honor. Keith thinks it’s funny that Allura is still the best diplomat they’ve got, even on Earth.  
  
“Dr. Holt says they’d like to thank us on behalf of the planet,” she explains, an excited twinkle in her eyes. “If it hadn’t been for Voltron and Atlas, Earth would have fallen to the Galra just like so many others in the past.”  
  
“Question.” Lance’s hand flies into the air and he nearly knocks Keith off the edge of the couch, which turns out to be for nothing because he goes on without waiting for acknowledgment. “Will we be dressing up for this occasion?”  
  
“Considering that the ceremony is going to be broadcasted across the entire planet,” Allura nods. “Yes, we will be.”  
  
Lance immediately turns to Keith. “Let me do your hair.”  
  
Keith splutters. “What—no, no way. Absolutely not.”  
  
“Please?” Lance pleads, clasping his hands together. “I can braid it—”  
  
“No one’s touching my hair,” Keith protests, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“It has gotten pretty long, Keith,” Shiro says carefully.  
  
Keith stares at him, betrayed. “You’re the one who let me grow it out!”  
  
“I most certainly did not,” Shiro huffs a laugh. “More like I was kidnapped by aliens for a year and wasn’t there to make you cut it.”  
  
Pidge snorts at that. “C’mon, Keith, a braid wouldn’t be so bad.”  
  
“Kolivan has a braid,” Hunk points out, leaning his head back over the couch to look at him. “And he’s the most intimidating person I know next to your mom. So if you’re worried about looking girly—”  
  
“That’s not—why is everyone attacking my hair?” Keith cries. “Nothing’s wrong with it!”  
  
“Allura, help us out here,” Lance turns toward her.  
  
She starts, looking trapped. “Oh! Well—that is—”  
  
Keith throws his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable.”  
  
Lance turns back to Keith. “KeithcanIpleasedoyourhairitwillbereallyprettyIpromise—”  
  
“Ugh, _fine,”_ Keith groans, hopelessly endeared when Lance’s eyes light up and he grins. “But only because Allura thinks I should.”  
  
Allura makes a small noise of protest. “I never said—”  
  
“You didn’t have to,” Keith sighs.  
  
And that, is how Keith finds himself seated on the floor of the lounge later that night in front of a small mirror, Lance sitting above him on the couch with a little bag full of hair supplies.  
  
Keith fidgets, pulling at the cuff of his new uniform jacket—red, to represent his original Lion. “You know what you’re doing, right?”  
  
Lance scoffs. “Please. Trust me, I learned from the best.” He pokes Keith in the side with the toe of his shoe. “I have two sisters and a niece remember? Not to mention all my younger primas, y mi tias y mi—er, my cousins and aunts and stuff.”  
  
Keith quickly lifts his head and glances at Lance’s reflection in the mirror. He suddenly seems to be very intently rummaging through the bag, his brow creased in that way it gets when he’s uneasy. Because he did it again. The thing. The thing where he starts talking about his family and accidentally switches into Spanish.  
  
_Cute,_ Keith thinks helplessly.  
  
There’s a brief moment of quiet, during which Keith picks nervously at the carpet. “Why do you do that?”  
  
Lance keeps looking through the bag. “Do what?”  
  
Keith fidgets again. “You always correct yourself, when you start talking in Spanish.”  
  
Lance pauses, looking up at Keith in the mirror only briefly as his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “Oh. Uh, no reason. I just—yeah.” He ducks his head back down. “Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable, or whatever, because they don’t understand it. So I just try to keep it to a minimum, as a general rule.”  
  
Keith watches as Lance continues searching for—whatever it is he’s looking for. His hair has gotten longer, too. He can tell by the way it’s starting to curl at the ends, framing Lance’s face in a way that calls attention to the freckles scattered across his cheekbones and the sharp angle of his jaw. It’s always a little messy in the back, but in a nice, wind-blown kind of way, and it just barely brushes up over the collar of his new blue uniform jacket which looks really freaking good on him—  
  
_Cute,_ Keith groans inwardly.  
  
He drums his fingers on his knees, only realizing after he says it that his response is kind of delayed. “That doesn’t really seem fair.”  
  
“What doesn’t?”  
  
Keith taps his knees some more. “I don’t know. I mean, Shiro’s always talking about how owning who we are makes us better paladins or whatever, right? Like when Pidge told us she’s a girl, and when we found out I’m half-Galra.” He drops his hands back to the carpet, absent-mindedly sliding his fingers through it. “And, you know. You’ve always been really supportive of everyone that way, so I don’t see why we shouldn’t be the same for you. Especially since Spanish is your native language that you grew up with, so it connects you to home and your family, which I know you missed a lot, and all of that is a part of you, so—yeah, I don’t think you should have to suppress that part of you just to make everyone else comfortable. We should be comfortable with you expressing yourself, even if we don’t necessarily understand it.” He smiles a little. “Besides, you always sound more like yourself when you speak Spanish. You seem happier. I think you deserve to feel that way, especially after we were stuck up in space for so long. Plus, you make it sound really pretty—”  
  
That’s when he realizes that he’s been thinking out loud. Without thinking. His eyes widen and his mouth snaps shut, and when he looks up he sees Lance staring at him in the mirror, mouth held slightly open, the bag in his lap completely forgotten.  
  
Keith can feel his cheeks heating up to probably about a billion degrees. “Uh—”  
  
“How’s it coming in here?”  
  
Both of them jump at the sound of Shiro’s voice as he pokes his head into the lounge, all sorts of hair clips and pins spilling out of the bag into Lance’s lap.  
  
“Great!” Lance squeaks, scrambling to pick everything up as Keith ducks his head down and lets his hair fall into his face, praying it’ll be enough to hide how _freaking_ red he is because holy quiznak he might as well have just confessed—again. Lance clears his throat. “Just getting started.”  
  
“Good,” Shiro says, oblivious. He sinks down onto the couch beside Lance with a grin. “Because I do _not_ want to miss this.”  
  
Keith glares through his bangs. “I didn’t ask for this.”  
  
“I know you didn’t,” Shiro snorts. “That’s the point.”  
  
“Okay, um—” Lance still seems a little flustered. “Keith, hold this.” Keith sticks his hand in the air and watches in the mirror as Lance places a hair tie into his palm. “Ready?”  
  
“I guess?” Keith answers, dropping his hand back into his lap and tugging anxiously at the elastic with his fingers.  
  
“Work your magic, Lance,” Shiro says happily, leaning back and making himself comfortable.  
  
Keith tries not to stare at Lance in the mirror as he tentatively reaches out, his hands hovering by Keith’s temples for just a split second, and why is Keith’s heart beating so much faster now? Then Lance starts brushing back Keith’s bangs, and slips his fingers through his hair, and—okay, Keith was definitely not ready. Not even close. He barely manages to suppress a contented sigh as Lance cards his fingers all the way through to the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes fluttering shut.  
  
He can hear Shiro smirking. “Having fun, Keith?”  
  
“Shut up,” Keith mumbles, unconsciously leaning his head back a little more so Lance doesn’t have to reach as far. He can’t help it. “Feels nice.”  
  
As far as Keith can tell, Lance hasn’t even started braiding yet. He just keeps coming back and carefully smoothing out every strand of hair, tucking it all behind his ears as he collects it into his hand. His fingers feel so delicate on his scalp, so soft and gentle with every movement, and Keith finds himself melting into it.  
  
“Just like a puppy,” Shiro murmurs teasingly.  
  
Keith opens one eye to glare threateningly at Shiro, faltering when he sees Lance watching him, a tiny smile on his lips, and maybe the slightest touch of pink on his face.  
  
Their eyes meet for just a second. Lance’s smile grows, and Keith’s heart flutters.  
  
“I didn’t know you had a forehead,” Lance says. Shiro bursts into laughter, and Keith only half-heartedly rolls his eyes.  
  
They sit in a comfortable silence after that as Lance starts braiding. Keith keeps his eyes on the floor so he doesn’t stare at Lance. He’d rather save himself from Shiro’s teasing. He has no idea exactly what Lance is doing, but he can still feel his fingers weaving through his hair, occasionally muttering a quick apology when he accidentally tugs too hard.  
  
(“Don’t worry,” Shiro said at some point. “He has a hard head.” And Keith had swatted at him, and Lance had squawked and told him to stay still.)  
  
“Hair tie,” Lance requests eventually, holding his hand out without looking up. Keith reaches up and drops the elastic into Lance’s waiting hand; there’s a little more tugging, and then Lance slaps his knees with a satisfied smile on his face. “And, done!”  
  
Keith peeks up at his reflection in the mirror, a little startled by how unfamiliar it seems. He’s never really paid much attention to his own eyes, but they suddenly seem brighter, somehow. He feels a little self-conscious about the discolored streak of skin on his cheek, now that there isn’t any hair to conceal it. And now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure he knew he had a forehead either. “Does it look okay?”  
  
Shiro sighs, sounding disappointed. “It looks—pretty good, actually.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lance nods, and Shiro laughs when Keith reaches up to poke at the back of his braid and Lance smacks his hand away.  
  
“I’ll go make sure that everyone else is ready. I’ll bring them in here, so just stay put.”  
  
Lance clambers off the couch as Shiro leaves the room and crouches down in front of Keith, who blinks and tries not to panic at the sudden close proximity. “Um.”  
  
“Just one more thing,” Lance says, apparently oblivious. Keith tries not to stare at him as he reaches forward and pulls out some loose strands of hair on either side of his face, his eyes flitting back and forth as if to make sure they’re even.  
  
_Blue,_ his brain observes.  
  
Lance sits back on his feet after a few seconds with a grin. “There. My job here is done.”  
  
Keith glances back at his reflection in the mirror, mostly so he’ll have somewhere to look other than Lance and something to think about other than how close he still is. “What’s the point of a braid if you're just gonna pull some hair out of it?”  
  
“It’s for the aesthetic, Keith,” Lance huffs, plopping onto the floor beside him and crossing his legs. He props his chin in his hand to look at him. “It’s an annoyingly good look on you.”  
  
_He just said you look good. Cool. Great, no big deal. Don’t freak out._  
  
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Keith manages to say over his brain.  
  
Lance snorts. “A simple thank you will suffice.”  
  
Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.  
  
He tries to ignore the fact that he can see Lance looking at him in the mirror, feeling almost relieved when he looks away. “So—” Lance taps the toes of his boots together. “Shiro told me that you’re staying here after the ceremony, before we leave for the coalition rally on Anthea next week.”  
  
Keith starts dragging his fingers through the carpet again. “Yeah.”  
  
“But everyone else is going home.”  
  
He shrugs. “I just wanted to give Shiro and Adam some time to themselves. They’ve got a few things to work out.”  
  
Lance scratches at the back of his neck. “But that means you’ll be all by yourself.”  
  
Keith shrugs again. “Not exactly a new experience for me. I think I can manage for a week.” There's a brief moment of quiet, but it feels heavy, like there's some unspoken question or answer hanging in the air but Keith doesn't know what that would be. He chances a quick look at Lance, watching him with a crease in his brow and his lip caught between his teeth. Keith glances away. "Why are you asking—"  
  
“You should come stay with me,” Lance blurts.  
  
It takes Keith a moment to process, but when he finally does, a strange, unfamiliar yet pleasant feeling settles in his stomach, and he slowly turns his head to look at Lance.  
  
Lance’s cheeks turn pink. “Only if you want to!” he adds quickly. “I just don’t think you should have to be alone, so—and I thought, well, it could be fun, you know? My family would love to meet you, so you wouldn’t be intruding or anything—Nadia’s birthday is in a couple of days and it’s guaranteed that there will be plenty of food, plus I can keep them from asking too many annoying questions because they can really be a handful sometimes—”  
  
“Okay,” Keith interrupts.  
  
Just like that. He doesn’t even have to think about it.  
  
“Okay—” Lance blinks at him. “Oh. Okay? As in—yeah? I mean—”  
  
“Okay, as in,” Keith clears his throat. “Yes. I’ll come stay with you.”  
  
When Lance just keeps staring at him, Keith wonders for a panicked split second if he somehow said something wrong, until Lance lets out a tiny huff and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Okay,” he repeats again. “Okay, yeah. Cool. Good.”  
  
Then there are voices coming down the hallway leading to the lounge as the rest of the team arrives to prepare for the ceremony; Lance lets go of Keith’s hand, and his heart nearly stops because he didn’t even realize he was holding it, or who took hold of who first, or for how long they’d been like that.

**Author's Note:**

> this really is our city now
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> 


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